Chapter 23

Thomas Heart flipped through the photos on his tablet, his expression cold and unreadable.

“Sean,” he said, stopping on one image. “Torn apart. Gerard says it’s the work of something extinct—until now. A shapeshifter. The Kanima.”

Silver’s voice was flat. “The thing you shot outside the club.”

“Good reflex. Poor aim. It got away.” Thomas didn’t look away. Michael stood nearby, arms folded, silent.

Thomas swiped to another photo. “Jessica. Strangled in her hospital bed hours after giving birth. The police think it was personal. We know better. We believe the Kanima is being controlled. That means two killers. One supernatural. One human.”

He looked Silver in the eye. “And you—son of Chris Argent, trained in survival, in secrets—you’re telling me you know nothing?”

Silver looked away, his jaw tight.

Thomas stepped forward. “You know what Michael asked me when he learned the truth? ‘Why us?’ I gave him the usual line—Churchill, greatness, responsibility. But I think it’s simpler. We have knowledge. That makes us responsible. For children. For families. For the people too weak to survive a night like the one you ran from.”

Michael shifted, his eyes flicking between his father and Silver.

“We know you’re trying to protect your friends, Silver. But people are dying. A child’s been orphaned. And when you carry the truth, you carry the cost. What you know… makes you responsible. For all of it.”

“You were raised to act when others can’t,” Thomas continued. “But here you are. Standing silent while people die. You look guilty, Silver. Like someone with something to hide.”

Silver snapped, “I don’t know who’s controlling it.”

Thomas’s voice dropped cold. “You don’t get to lie to me. Not when there’s blood on the ground.”

Silver flinched as Thomas stepped closer, his tone quietly lethal. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to start telling the truth before I decide you’re no better than the thing doing the killing.”

The door to Thomas Heart’s study slammed shut behind them. Silver walked stiffly down the hall, every word still echoing in his head.

His reflection looked pale. Small. Like a shadow pretending to be something solid.

Michael caught up a few seconds later, quieter than usual. He hovered a few steps away, hands in his jacket pockets, jaw tense.

Silver didn’t turn around.

“I didn’t know he’d go that hard on you,” Michael said finally.

Silver’s laugh came out hollow. “You didn’t stop him.”

Michael sighed. “You know what my dad’s like. If I push back, he digs in harder.”

Then Michael softened his voice, too casual for the weight of the moment. “Listen… Allison and Matt are hanging out Friday night. We should go.”

Silver gave him a side-eye. “What, like a double date?”

Michael smirked faintly. “Would it be so bad if it was?”

Michael stepped in front of him now, dropping the sarcasm. “I’m serious. It’s not just for them. It’s cover. We hang out, we stay close, and we keep an eye out. You and me, reporting back to our families — we bring something useful, they trust us more.”

Silver looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He was too tired.

Michael leaned in slightly, his voice lower. “It doesn’t have to be a lie, you know. Us working together.”

Silver’s eyes flicked to his, unreadable. “It already is.”

Michael didn’t press it. He just nodded once and backed away, already switching gears. “Pick you up at seven?”

🦎

“There’s gotta be another way to get tickets, right?” Scott asked, glancing over at Stiles.

“It’s a secret show, dude. There’s only one way in. And it’s a secret for a reason. That means exclusive. That means impossible.”

They stop when they spot Matt, who’s clutching a folded envelope and trying a little too hard to look casual.

“Hey,” Matt said casually. “Either of you know why no one got suspended after that whole thing at school?”

Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes. “Just forget it, man. Nobody got hurt.”

“I had a concussion!” Matt argued, throwing his hands up.

“Yeah, well… no one got seriously hurt,” Stiles muttered.

“I was in the ER for six hours!”

Stiles stepped forward, irritation creeping into his voice. “Do you want the truth, Matt? Your little bump on the head is, like, this high on our list of current problems right now.”

Scott sighed, trying to de-escalate. “Are you okay, though?”

Matt crossed his arms, clearly still annoyed. “Yeah, I’m fine now.” His tone shifted slightly, almost smug. “So, you didn’t get any tickets last night either?”

Scott perked up. “Are they still selling?”

Matt shook his head. “Nope. Sold out quick. But I managed to get four online.”

Stiles raised a brow. “Four?”

Before Matt could answer, footsteps approached from behind. Michael rounded the corner, hands in his jacket pockets, cool and calm as ever.

“There you are,” Matt said quickly, relief washing over his face. He held out the envelope. “Told you I’d get them.”

Michael took the envelope and opened it, checking the two tickets inside. He gave Matt a satisfied smile. “Nice. You’re officially useful for once.”

Matt snorted. “Yeah, well, you owe me. These weren’t cheap.”

Michael tucked the envelope into his pocket and clapped Matt lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Matt gave an awkward shrug and walked off, leaving Michael alone in the morning chill with Scott and Stiles. The silence between them was taut.

Stiles threw a glance at Scott, already bristling, then muttered, “I don’t like him.” before heading toward the school doors.

Scott turned to follow, but Michael reached out and grabbed his sleeve—not hard, just enough to make him stop.

“Just five minutes,” Michael said, voice low.

Scott exhaled, jaw clenched, but nodded. “Fine. Five.”

They stood a few feet apart on the sidewalk, the hum of early school traffic buzzing around them, but this moment felt like it existed outside of it.

“You’re planning something,” Michael said. “And you don’t want me involved because you don’t trust me.”

Scott didn’t answer right away. His voice, when it came, was flat.

“Can you blame me? You kissed Silver. You lied to his dad. And now you’re circling back to Allison like nothing happened.”

Michael’s jaw tightened at that, but he didn’t argue. He took it.

“You really think I’m doing all this because of some high school love triangle?” he asked quietly.

Scott’s gaze flicked up, uncertain now.

“I’m in this because Silver’s in the middle of it all. Again. And I know what it looks like when people start closing in on him. I know how fast it can all go wrong.”

Scott looked away, like he didn’t want to hear it—but he was listening.

Michael stepped in just a little closer, not threatening, just firm.

“You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to believe me. But you and I both know what Jackson is becoming. And I know how to handle monsters. Better than you, maybe.”

Scott’s fists clenched at that, but he didn’t speak.

Michael’s tone softened.

“You can say you hate me because of what I am or what I did but that’s not true. You hate me because Silver is safer with me.”

🦎

Silver’s voice was anxious. “I’m sorry. I know you said we can’t talk like this anymore—”

Scott cut in gently, “What happened?”

Silver stammered, “Um, Michael’s dad brought us… He knows about the last two murders. He knows there are two killers, and he and Gerard—”

“Silver, you need to calm down,” Scott said softly, pulling Silver into a hug, hoping to soothe him.

But Silver pushed away, shaking his head. “No, Scott. You don’t get it. This man is dangerous. He will kill you with no hesitation.”

Scott’s voice was steady but firm. “I’ll be fine, okay? He’s not going to get me.”

“Are you going to the rave?” Silver asked. Scott shook his head, “No, but -“

Silver let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, relief flooding his features for just a moment.

Scott noticed and pressed, “You shouldn’t go either.” Silver swallowed, eyes fixed somewhere beyond Scott.

Silver looked down, muttering, “Allison is going out with Matt. Michael and I are joining them.”

Scott tensed at that. “Why do you have to go with him? Why do you have to go at all?”

Silver’s jaw tightened. “I’m not going to sit on the sidelines while people get hurt. Michael’s complicated, yeah, but he’s not the enemy.”

Scott scoffed. “Not the enemy? He hurt you Silver.”

Silver’s defenses faltered. His eyes flickered away, and before he could stop himself, he muttered, “Michael

Scott froze, shock flashing across his face. “What?”

Silver ran a hand through his hair, frustration and pain mixing. Scott’s voice softened for a moment, but the hurt was still there. “Silver,” He starts but no other words follow.

“You should go with him.” Scott says after a moment of silence. Silver looks at him surprised. “A second ago you just said I couldn’t trust him and now you want me to go out with him?” Silver asks.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re safe with him.” Scott kisses Silver on his cheek before leaving him alone in the classroom.

🦎

The room was dim, crowded, and heavy with tension. Deaton methodically laid out medical supplies on the counter while Scott, Stiles, and Michael stood nearby. Michael leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

“Why is he here?” Stiles asked Scott, his voice low but edged with surprise as he looked at the redhead.

Scott didn’t hesitate. “I didn’t ask because I wanted to. I asked because Silver’s in this now… and like it or not, Michael knows how to keep him safe and how to tell him the plan.”

Michael stepped forward, his tone sharp and sarcastic. “You don’t have to trust me. I don’t even care if you like me. But we all know what Jackson is capable of. And if something goes wrong, you’ll want someone who doesn’t hesitate. Or how about someone to keep you safe from the hunters?”

Scott shifted the conversation. “Ketamine?”

Deaton nodded, opening a small case and sliding two vials toward Scott. “It’s the same stuff we use on the dogs — just a higher dosage. If you can get close enough to Jackson, it should slow him down. Buy you some time.”

Deaton then turned to Stiles. “And this is what you’ll use to create the barrier. This part’s for you, Stiles. Only you.”

Stiles eyed the pouch of powder nervously. “That sounds like… a lot of pressure. Can we maybe, I don’t know, find a slightly less pressure-filled task for me?”

Deaton smiled faintly. “It’s Mountain Ash. It’s believed by many cultures to protect against the supernatural. This office is lined with ashwood — makes it very difficult for someone like Scott to cause me any trouble.”

“So I just… sprinkle this stuff all over the place, and whoever’s controlling Jackson can’t get through?” Stiles asked.

“Exactly. They’ll be trapped — if it works,” Deaton replied.

Scott tried to sound confident. “Doesn’t sound too hard.”

Deaton shook his head slightly. “It’s not just about spreading it. Think of it like gunpowder — inert until a spark ignites it. You need to be that spark, Stiles.”

Stiles gave a flat response, “If you mean light myself on fire, I’m not really up for that tonight.”

Deaton chuckled quietly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Let me try another analogy. I used to golf. The best golfers don’t just swing — they see where they want the ball to go before they hit it. The mind takes over. Force of will.”

Stiles whispered to himself, “Force of will…”

“If this is going to work, Stiles, you have to believe it,” Deaton said softly.

The room fell silent, the weight of what they were facing pressing down on everyone. Michael stepped forward, his eyes locking onto theirs, voice low but filled with grim certainty.

“This isn’t just about luck or hope. If you don’t see this through—if you hesitate—there won’t be a second chance. We all pay the price.”

🦎

Argent stood by the table, maps and plans spread out before them. “All right — the party’s in a warehouse just inside the industrial sector. Allison and Michael have gotten word that Jackson Whittemore will be there, hunting for his next target among the crowd. Since we still don’t fully know how strong he is, we have to be extremely cautious.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in Argent’s eyes.

Thomas Heart stepped forward, his voice low but sharp. “Caution’s one thing, but hesitation? That’s a luxury you don’t have. You’re letting personal feelings cloud your judgment.”

Argent’s jaw tightened. “When Allison confirms Jackson’s location and signals me, that’s when we move. The ‘optimal’ point means as far from the crowd as possible. No collateral damage tonight.”

Gerard smirked, folding his arms. “As eager as those two might seem, have you told your son about this plan?”

Argent shot back defensively, “He doesn’t need to know more than that.”

Thomas Heart’s eyes narrowed. “And for the rest of us, let’s be perfectly clear: you don’t trap a creature this dangerous — you kill it. No second chances. No mercy. No hesitation.”

Argent swallowed hard, the weight of his doubt hanging heavy in the room. Thomas’s words cut through the tension. “If you hesitate now, you’ll lose everything.”

🦎

Argent stepped into Silver’s room, eyes immediately locking onto the bare scars running down Silver’s arms. His sleeves were rolled up, leaving the wounds exposed like an open challenge.

“You shouldn’t be showing that,” Argent said, voice sharp, almost a warning. “You shouldn’t be going to that out like this. It’s reckless.”

Silver didn’t flinch. He turned to face Argent fully, voice steady but fierce. “It’s just my boyfriend and I going on a double date with Allison.”

Argent shook his head, “It’s not safe.”

“Why?” Silver asked, “Because I’m broken? Because I don’t fit your idea of ‘ready’?”

Silver’s eyes flashed with anger. “Maybe I’m not. But everyone wants me to be with Michael. So that’s what I’m doing. Maybe that means being someone else — someone less broken than what you see.”

Argent took a step forward, frustration boiling over. “You think pretending makes you stronger? It doesn’t. You’re running from who you are.”

Silver’s voice cut through the room like a knife. “Better to run than to stay a victim waiting to be saved by someone else. Maybe you don’t get it because you never had to.”

Argent’s face twisted with hurt. “I’m trying to protect you.”

Silver laughed bitterly, a sound full of pain. “Protect me? You can’t protect me. You never could.”

There was a heavy pause, the air thick with words neither wanted to say but both felt. Argent’s voice was quieter now, tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Silver’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears but he turned away. “Well, you did.”

Without another word, Silver stormed past Argent, heading for the door. Argent reached out as if to stop him but pulled back, his hand falling to his side.

🦎

The city’s forgotten industrial edge comes alive in bursts of sound. The warehouse doors are wide open, the bassline of a remix thrumming through metal and bone.

Outside, cars are lined up along cracked concrete. Inside, smoke and neon paint every surface in strobe.

Michael and Silver stepped out of the sleek black car, the warehouse thumping in the distance like a living heartbeat. The night air buzzed with electricity, and the scent of smoke and sweat already drifted from the open doors ahead.

Silver adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, deliberately rolling his sleeves too high, exposing the thin, pale scars that marked his forearms like a history written in silence. His black shirt hung open at the collar, halfway unbuttoned. His eyeliner was sharp and clean, but his eyes — beneath all that armor — looked drained, like he hadn’t really slept in days.

Michael glanced over at him with a teasing smirk. “You nervous?”

Silver didn’t even look at him. “Do I look nervous?”

Michael let out a quiet laugh, his eyes tracking the tension in Silver’s every movement. “You look like—” He tugged on Silver’s jacket, signaling for him to take it off.

Silver stared at him, uncertain, but handed over the jacket anyway.

Michael smiled, his hands trailing down Silver’s arm, fingers brushing lightly over a few faint scars.

“You look strong.”

The music is thunder. Lights sweep like sirens over the crowd.

He caught Silver’s hands just as they moved to shield the scars that ran like silent stories along his arms. With gentle insistence, Michael coaxed Silver’s arms around his neck, pulling him into a slow, deliberate dance.

“Everyone’s watching,” Silver muttered, eyes darting to the crowd, heavy with unspoken judgment.

Michael pressed his forehead against Silver’s, his breath warm against his skin. “I wanted to protect you from this—this life, this pain. I hated lying to you, but even more, I hated how you found out the truth.”

“Michael, I’m not—”

“No, please,” Michael interrupted, voice trembling with raw honesty. “You’re not broken. Never were. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. I miss my Silver—the one who isn’t hiding behind fear and scars.”

Leaning closer, his lips barely brushing Silver’s, Michael whispered, “I miss you. Please, forgive me. I love you.”

Silver crashed into him with a desperate kiss—hard, raw, searching for something real. The flashing lights, the crowd, all faded away until there was only their lips, their hands, and the ache tightening in Silver’s chest.

Michael pulled him even closer, steady and practiced, playing the part perfectly. But Silver kissed as if trying to breathe, to hold on, to convince himself he wasn’t falling apart.

They broke apart, gasping, breaths mingling in the strobe-lit haze. Silver’s hands lingered on Michael’s chest, grounding himself, before stepping back reluctantly, eyes glassy, lips parted.

Michael’s grin was quiet but searching. “What was that for?”

Silver’s gaze dropped, his voice sharp but fragile underneath. “I needed it.”

Michael’s smile faltered. “Needed what?”

Silver finally met his eyes for a fleeting second—raw, exposed, vulnerable beyond what this pulsing, crowded room could contain.Silver finally met his eyes, just for a fleeting second. There was something raw and exposed there—too vulnerable for the pulsing, crowded room.

Then Silver’s eyes swept over the crowd—and froze.

Scott.

Standing at the edge of the dance floor.

Motionless. Eyes fixed on Silver.

Not angry. Not jealous.

Just utterly broken.

Silver’s breath caught in his throat. The music thudded through the room, but everything else fell silent.

Scott looked away—just for a moment—and that tiny movement broke something inside Silver more than a shout ever could.

Michael turned, eyes narrowing as he spotted Scott too. His jaw clenched tight, but he said nothing. Inside, he wrestled between a sharp, bitter gloat and a flicker of pity.

Silver barely whispered, “Shit.”

Michael’s voice was flat, almost cruel. “Guess you picked your moment.”

Silver blinked rapidly, emotion threatening to drown him. “I didn’t know he was here,” he admitted, voice low and desperate.

Michael’s eyes softened just a bit, reading deeper than Silver said aloud. “You weren’t kissing me for the crowd.”

“You were kissing me to forget him.”

Silver didn’t deny it. Instead, his legs carried him forward, chasing after Scott through the crowd — trying to catch what was slipping further away.

“Scott!”

He turned sharply.

Silver stood a few feet away, breath caught in his throat, eyeliner smudged, the illusion cracked. His voice was shaking, but he stood his ground.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked, his voice raw.

Silver hesitated, chest heaving. “You told me to go out with him…”

“Not here.” Scott’s voice rose. “Not like this. You don’t get it—we had a plan.”

Silver’s brows pulled together, hurt flashing across his face. “You have a plan?”

Scott stepped closer. “No—we had a plan. This was supposed to be about protecting people, not putting them in more danger.”

Silver’s throat bobbed. “I didn’t know they were coming here tonight.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “What did you tell them?”

Scott stepped back like he’d been slapped. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Silver said, voice rising. “Michael didn’t tell me that. He said to look good, keep close. That was it. No one told me what they were doing.”

Scott stared at him, torn between disbelief and anger. “They told Michael. They told Allison. But not you.”

Silver’s expression crumbled. “They didn’t trust me.”

Scott’s voice dropped, bitter and sharp. “Neither did Michael.”

That one landed. Hard.

Silver’s breath hitched. “I didn’t know I was supposed to stop something I wasn’t even told about.”

Scott’s voice broke. “We had a plan.”

Silver looked down, then back up at him with tears in his eyes. “So do they…”

“This isn’t going to work,” Scott muttered, stepping back.

“What do you want me to do?” Silver asked, pleading now. “Tell me. I’ll fix it. Please. Just tell me what to do.”

Scott doesn’t answer right away.

His eyes flicker down — just briefly — catching the edge of Silver’s sleeve where the fabric has shifted. The faint outline of old scars peeks through.

For a moment, something shifts behind Scott’s eyes. A flicker of pain. Maybe regret.

“Just stay out of the way,” he said flatly.

Silver took a step forward. “Scott!”

Scott didn’t look at him. “Stay out of the way.”

🦎

The bass from the rave still echoed through the city’s bones as Scott handed Isaac the syringe, the vial already preloaded with wolfsbane.

Isaac eyed it, brow furrowed. “Why me?”

Scott sighed, his jaw tense. “Because I’ve got to make sure Argent doesn’t completely ruin the plan.”

He held up the syringe, showing Isaac the trigger mechanism.

“Okay, look—do it intravenously. That means in the vein. When you find Jackson, pull back on the plunger right here. The neck’s probably going to be the easiest place. You find a vein, you jam it in, and you pull.”

Isaac rolled his eyes, gripping the syringe. “Oh, I doubt it’ll even slightly hurt him.”

Scott caught his arm before he turned away. His voice softened. “No. I mean you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Isaac met his eyes. That one second of sincerity said more than the whole plan.

Then Scott looked past him—and froze.

Across the warehouse, through the shifting neon haze, he saw Michael and Allison tucked in a shadowed corner. Whispering close.

Allison touched his chest lightly. Michael leaned in. Their mouths met—slow, like they’d done this before.

Scott’s jaw locked. Not because of betrayal. Because it made sense. Because everything was already unraveling.

Silver found Michael and Allison near the rear exit, speaking in hushed tones. The second they saw him, they changed.

Michael stepped forward. “We should go.”

Silver looked between them. “Why?”

Allison exchanged a glance with Michael, then said, “It’s not safe here. Dad and Gerard are outside now. If they see you with Scott—”

“I’m staying,” Silver said firmly. “I’m not disappearing just because it makes things easier for you.”

🦎

“Why couldn’t you just do what you’re told?”

The voice was low, cold — and all too familiar.

Silver turned sharply.

Thomas Heart stood near the far wall, half-shadowed beneath flickering lights. His suit was pristine, not a single wrinkle. His posture was rigid. His expression looked carved from ice — but something in it was beginning to crack.

Silver’s breath caught in his throat. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Thomas took a step forward. “No. You shouldn’t.”

Silver’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re not in charge of me.”

Thomas’s voice darkened. “No? Then why are you still doing everything wrong? You think this is a game? That pretending to play hunter while hanging on a leash makes you one of us?”

Silver’s jaw tightened. “I never asked to be one of you.”

“You were told to stay quiet,” Thomas said. “To look the part. Not to speak. Not to question anything. But you just couldn’t follow orders.”

That was enough.

Thomas moved like lightning — a closed fist slamming into Silver’s gut, knocking the wind out of him. Silver doubled over with a grunt, but before he could recover, a second blow cracked across his jaw, sending him sprawling onto the cold concrete.

Silver coughed and spat blood onto the ground. His ribs screamed as he pushed himself halfway up, one arm shaking beneath him.

Thomas stood over him, looking down like he was something stuck to his shoe.

“You’re weak,” he said. “An embarrassment. Your father should’ve let them finish you off. “

Silver didn’t respond.

Thomas simply lifted his foot and drove it into Silver’s ribs — once, twice — deliberate and cruel, until Silver collapsed completely, unmoving.

“I told Michael to ask out Allison,” he said quietly, voice dripping with contempt. “But he kept insisting on you. I let him have you both. Still, I always wonder why he chose the weak one.”

Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving Silver crumpled on the floor.

🦎

The air outside the warehouse was cold and heavy, soaked with sweat and smoke. Silver staggered down the sidewalk, one hand gripping his ribs, the other smearing blood across his black shirt.

“Hey—Silver?”

He turned, barely upright, just in time to see Stiles jogging up, wide-eyed and breathless. “Dude, what the hell—? Did you get jumped by a brick wall?”

Silver tried to wave him off. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” Stiles said, stopping in front of him. “Like, a lot.”

Silver’s voice was hoarse. “I just need to get home.”

Stiles caught his arm before he collapsed again. “Are you serious? You can barely walk.”

“I can handle it,” Silver muttered.

Stiles sighed. “Okay. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Nope,” Stiles cut in. “You’re not getting left alone tonight. Not looking like this.”

Silver hesitated. His lip was split, his pride worse. But something about the way Stiles said it — not with pity, not like he was fragile — made it feel bearable.

“…Fine,” he whispered.

🦎

“Silver,” Stiles calls from the driver’s seat, his voice softer now, steady despite everything, “You don’t have to do this alone. You’re not alone.”

Silver doesn’t turn back. He just nods, glancing down at the dried blood caked onto his arms. It clings like armor, half-hiding the scars underneath. Almost poetic.

“Thanks for the ride,” Silver murmurs, opening the door. He hesitates, glancing back one last time. “And… thanks for being a friend.”

He shuts the door and heads toward the house.

The porch light’s still on. Silver stops for a moment, squinting through the tears welling in his eyes. He’d left his dad and Gerard at the rave. His mom never left the lights on unless someone else was out too.

That only left Allison… or Scott.

Just thinking about his boyfriend makes his chest tighten. He shouldn’t have yelled at Scott. Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix things — to make it work despite all this.

But then again… he was Arthur Argent.

Broken. Heavy. Inherited with the worst of everything. Why would Scott stay?

He should’ve run when he learned about Silver’s family.
He should’ve stayed away when Silver had him pinned with a blade.
When Michael and Gerard showed up.
When Silver’s past crawled into the present.

Scott should’ve never loved him in the first place.

Silver doesn’t even realize he’s at the door until his fingers are shaking on the handle, tears blurring the porch light into stars.

“Silver?”

He spins around, startled. He wipes his face quickly, but the tears don’t stop.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice hoarse, cracking.

Michael steps forward from the shadows, breathless.

“I— I couldn’t find you. I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“Where’s Allison?” Silver asks quietly.

“She’s taking Matt home. They left once things went south — like I asked you to.”

Michael doesn’t wait for permission. He wraps his arms around Silver, and Silver doesn’t resist. Not now. Not tonight.

“Come on,” Michael says gently. “You need sleep.”

He guides Silver upstairs, one hand steady on the small of his back.

The light flickers on, and Michael’s breath catches when he sees it — the blood. All up Silver’s arms.

“Who did this to you?”

Silver glances up, confused. “There was some panic at the club. I- I just got lost in it.”

“Hold on.” He gently sits Silver on the edge of the bed.

Michael disappears into the bathroom, returns with a damp towel, and kneels in front of Silver.

He begins to wipe the blood away, slow and careful.

Silver flinches.

Michael pauses, not sure if it was pain or just him. Silver exhales shakily and extends his arm again.

A quiet moment passes. Then—

“Back then… I never got it. How you weren’t… repulsed. By my arms. By the scars.”

Michael doesn’t answer right away. He keeps wiping, slower now, like his words are buried in the cloth.

“I didn’t see what you saw,” he says at last. “I saw someone who survived. Someone who clawed their way out. They never defined you, Silver.”

Silver looks away. His voice cracks:

“They made me weak.”

Michael stays silent, letting Silver continue. “There was an arrow in my back. And I remember them dragging it down. Again and again. Until I stopped screaming. Until I couldn’t even feel it anymore.”

The words hang in the air — sharp, aching.

Silver starts to cry, silent at first, then with shuddering sobs.

Michael drops the towel and pulls him in without hesitation, arms wrapping tight as Silver collapses into him.Minutes pass. Silver’s breathing slows. His body softens, the exhaustion finally taking over.

He falls asleep like that — curled against Michael, safe for now.

Michael eases him down onto the bed, covers him with a blanket, and pauses.

He looks at Silver, brushes his hair back gently.

And in that quiet moment, Michael remembers exactly what it felt like:

To love him.

“Mikey? Is he okay?”

Allison peeks her head in her brother’s room. Michael sighs, “He’s fine, Liss. He’s… he’s Silver.”

He walks to her slowly, extending his hand.

She takes it without hesitation, and they slip into her bedroom together, the door closing softly behind them.